Rising From Perdition
by Dementors hate chocolate
Summary: Dean's point of view of escaping Hell. R&R, please!


**I don't own Supernatural!**

**Just something I wrote when the idea came to me!**

**Rising From Perdition**

Strong hands grasp me tightly, one on each shoulder. The smell of burning flesh perforates the air as the hands scorch my skin.

I cry out as my skin sears with pain; this is nothing compared to what Alistair had done to me but it is still agony. Was this some new torture Alistair had cooked up? He had been getting pretty inventive lately. But I was supposed to be done getting tortured. I had given in, agreed to Alistair's deal, much to my displeasure. Guilt gripped my heart every day while I tortured some soul on the rack. As I stuck a knife in them, burned them, beat them, I felt every blow I dealt, still felt like it was me getting tortured. But I hadn't been able to hold up against Alistair's persuasive torture sessions. I had given in, when I should have been strong and held out.

I twist my head and try to see who is grabbing me from behind, but all I see is an intense, bluish white light. I can feel the hands on my shoulders, but I can't see them.

My feet suddenly leave the bloody concrete of my dim torture room that I now consider home; I am rising. The room becomes hazy; the carts of torture instruments and the table with the leather straps to keep my victims bound fade from view. "Who are you?" I scream as we keep rising higher but there is no reply from the light. I struggle madly in the thing's grasp, kicking out and flailing my arms, but my limbs hit nothing solid. I stop to think, exhausted from the sudden exertion of energy. This thing was taking me from my torture chamber. Wasn't that a good thing?

I am quiet and close my eyes, biting my lip to prevent myself from crying out in pain from the renewed burning sensation in my shoulders as the thing grips me tighter.

The heat from a million different fires warm my body and the screams from the other souls stuck in hell pierce my ears as we go steadily upward through the layers of Hell. The dark is so heavy it feels solid as it presses against my eyelids.

My body starts to tingle strangely, and suddenly I am being compressed, folded in half, or at least that's what it feels like. Then a sudden brightness almost blinds me, even through my closed lids.

"Don't open your eyes," a man's voice warns, echoing through wherever we are.

"Where am I?" I ask, putting a hand over my closed eyes to further block the stinging light.

The voice is quiet before answering my next question, which was on the tip of my tongue; 'Am I out of Hell? Are you bringing me back to life?'

"My orders were to raise you from Hell, Dean Winchester. I must now reunite your soul with your vessel."

"Wait, who are you? What orders?" Wasn't I going to get any kind of explanation as to what just happened here?

"My name is Castiel. We must go now."

I feel a searing hand upon my shoulder again and Castiel, whatever he is, touches my forehead lightly with two fingers.

"You will not remember leaving Hell when you wake up. You will not remember that it was I who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. You will not know until we meet again, and then you must be told the reason why, and your destiny."

"Castiel, why did you raise me from Hell?"

"Those were my orders. I was simply following them."

I frown. That didn't tell me anything.

Suddenly, the bright light begins to diminish, until it is completely gone, and I feel cramped and suffocated. My mind is hazy, like it's enveloped in a deep fog.

Where am I? I had finished my daily torture session, but I'm not in my torture room anymore. Was I?

I reach out a hand and it's met by a rough wooden plank. I kick out a foot, and it thunks heavily against wood. I can't sit up; the top of whatever I'm in inches away from the top of my head. Trying to keep calm, as I never did like inclosed spaces,I use my arms and legs, I slowly trace out my surroundings; I'm in a wooden box. My heart skips a beat. My coffin?

As I feel along the roof of my containment, a small trickle of soil falls onto my face from a crack in a loose board. I begin pushing at it, kicking it, and it groans under the pressure. It finally gives way under my persuasion, splintering in half with a loud crack , and moist soil begins piling on top of me. I fight the urge to scream at the fear of being buried alive by the dirt. I close my eyes, breathing deeply and trying to slow my racing heart. I kick out another board, and throw it to the side.

My hands fight through the soil, pushing it aside almost as if I am doing the breast stroke through a swimming pool. My right hand finally pops out into the fresh air. I wiggle my fingers as I force the rest of my top half through the last layer of dirt.

The fresh air feel like heaven to my lungs, so different from the heavy air in Hell, which was full of the smells of torture and blood, and the warm sunlight is absolutely delicious on my skin. I pull my legs from my grave, and roll over on my back, face up towards the brilliant blue sky. My eyes sting as they adjust to the light and my chest heaves as I fill my lungs with air. The fluffy clouds drift slowly across the sky, and I brush away a tear at the quite normal but wonderfully beautiful sight.

Am I actually out of Hell? Is it possible? It had been half a lifetime since I had seen the sky, and it didn't seem real. I stood shakily, my feet sinking somewhat in the newly upset dirt.

My grave looks like a scene from the Night Of The Living Dead; a hole in the middle where I had emerged, and a mound of dirt around it, almost like an anthill. Sam and Bobby had obviously not burned my body; I don't know why but I'm glad they didn't at that moment. Instead they buried me...God knew where.

Two pieces of wood were hastily nailed together to create a shabby-looking cross, which was stuck lopsidedly in the soil at the head of the grave. Small and anonymous, just how I like. But some part of me feels hurt that they couldn't do better.

I grin as I think of Sam and Bobby's faces. They must have found a way to bring me back. Otherwise, how had I risen?

The grin slides off my face and my heart sinks as I take in my wider surroundings: all of the trees around my grave are knocked down, facing away from it in a perfect concentric circle. What had they done to get me out? If Sam had made another deal.. I would..well I don't know what I would do, but he..he.. better not have.

I turn away from the place where I had been planted for who knows how long, and fear grips my heart. I hope Sam hadn't sacrificed himself for me by making a deal with a crossroads demon. He should know better then that. But then, maybe I should have known better when I made the deal for Sam's life. But I couldn't let him rot when I was supposed to be dead anyway.

My right shoulder suddenly gives a nasty twinge, and I rub it, which only makes it burn more. I pull my right arm out of my jacket and roll up my t-shirt sleeve. An angry red swelling stands out on my tanned skin. It's the shape of a handprint, like someone had touched me and I had been burned. I gently trace the swelling with a finger, shocked at the strange mark. What could have done this?

A name is whispered in my mind, 'Castiel', but I don't hear it. I am too engrossed in contemplating the possible creatures who could have pulled me from Hell, or the deals Bobby and Sam could have agreed to to have me released from down under. I only hope they hadn't done anything too stupid. I start my trek out of the forest, still wondering about the handprint.

"Gripped you tight." I hear in my mind. "Raised you from Perdition." I shake my head. Hearing voices...defiantly not a good sign. I have to get to Sam and Bobby and find out what exactly they had done. I glance behind me and take in my grave site one last time; I feel unsettled. For some strange reason that I can't explain, I don't think Sam and Bobby had done this. But who else could have? There was no one else who wanted to raise me from the dead..was there? A shudder runs through my body as I remember the handprint. I suppose I would find out soon enough.

I don't feel the pair of eyes upon me, watching me as I left. A pair of angel eyes, which are attached to the angel who would fast become my best friend, watching over his human charge. Castiel's eyes.


End file.
